


Head Trauma

by VaultEscapeArtist



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mixed Martial Arts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2017-12-21 18:28:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VaultEscapeArtist/pseuds/VaultEscapeArtist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrett Hawke is a young, heavyweight MMA fighter who meets Fenris, a lightweight, who has a controlling ring coach that is endangering his health. Rated M for violence, strong language, and sexual references and situations. Pairings: M!Hawke/Isabela, M!Hawke/Fenris</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kintz

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I am not a MMA fighter. I looked up the rules online and interpreted them to the best of my ability. I've seen matches, yeah, but that only does so much. If I screw something up, tell me politely, please. It was an honest mistake (probably) and I don't mind being corrected if it's done nicely. Thank you. I love getting feedback or questions so feel free to do so. As for how many chapters this'll have, I'm thinking it will be split into three parts, but...I have the tendency to take a small project and make it into a HUGE project so who knows?  
> Also, Darius is Danarius. If that isn't already obvious.

 

 

**Head Trauma**

**Modern Dragon Age AU**

**Garret Hawke/Fenris**

 

 **Chapter 1:** Kintz

 

“ _Never let go of a good thing without a fight. Especially if that good thing is a pair of boxing gloves.”  
― Jarod Kintz_

 

His back and shoulders always tensed up before a fight. Garrett knew this. And Isabela knew this. That was the reason she was vigorously massaging his back muscles while Merrill pounded her tiny, pale fists on his left shoulder. And well, Isabela had never passed up an opportunity to touch him while he was half-naked before. Frankly, he would have been insulted if she had. He was damn _fine_ if he did say so himself. And he did say it, out loud, quite often.

 

“That better, sweet thing?” Isabela gave him a light push towards the ring where Varric, Garrett's MMA coach, was waiting for him.

 

“Oh, yeah,” Garrett nodded, rolling his shoulders forward. “Thanks, Isabela.” He nodded to the woman, who claimed she only attended his matches to meet well muscled, future one night stands. Garrett knew better. The former petty thief had met Garrett when someone she stole from had had her literally cornered. _Isabela is a helluva fighter herself_ , he thought grimly. _But no one should have to face Ari alone._ Ari, a heavyweight fighter as well, was the current state MMA champion. And Garrett was planning to change that.

 

He and Isabela hadn't fought Ari the night they had met, they had ran, but they couldn't do that forever. Isabela never went to any matches at Bianca's gym that Ari was participating in, but Garrett saw the tall brute quite often in between matches or during practice. He knew they wouldn't stay passive for long. Garrett wanted that title and he was more than happy to duel for it.

 

“I wonder what sort of speech Varric has planned for tonight?” Merrill wondered aloud, catching Garrett's attention. Merrill was a dark haired college student that Varric was watching over for the time being. And since her guardian owned the gym he fought at, Garrett saw her quite often.

 

Garrett had her answer. “A _long_ one.”

 

 

 

His mother, Leandra Amell, was watching this fight, though she couldn't disapprove more. And Garrett didn't blame her for that, not one bit. _She_ may have blamed him for, well, everything, but that was _her_ way of coping. Not his. He didn't focus on her long, Varric had grabbed his jaw and turned him around towards the ring. The man was ready to give his pre-fight speech. Garrett gave him a lopsided grin.

 

“Stop smiling. You're a fighter, Hawke. You have to _look_ like one.” No matter how much Varric protested, Garrett fought every match with a stupid, bloody smirk on his face. A trait that pissed his opponents off immensely.

 

The referee, a tall redhead, walked over and glared impressively down at Varric. “Keep it short,” she warned, referencing his infamous speeches.

 

“I always do, Aveline,” Varric answered, charming as could be.

 

That got a snort out of her. “You _never_ do.” She stomped off to talk to the other coach.

 

Tonight's match was a ring match, as usual. Garrett avoided gyms that used cage matches. He had never like the idea of being locked in anywhere. And especially not somewhere that had someone who could legally beat the shit out of him. No thanks.

 

“You're a Champion, Hawke,” Varric began. Garrett gave him a nod to continue. “This is _your_ story.”

 

“Damn right it is.” Garrett stood up, bouncing on his feet. He was mainly a wrestler, but his boxing was in no way inferior. He practiced a few combos.

 

Now Varric gave him a few details of the man he was to fight. “This guy's been hit in the head way too many times. Quentin's crazy. Watch out for that.”

 

Garrett blinked. “Watch out for crazy? How do I--”

 

Varric cut him off. “I also saw him hitting on your mom earlier, so...”

 

“WHAT?”

 

“Go get him, Killer.”

 

And that was it. Aveline was shocked to see Garrett ready to fight so quickly. Varric had actually listened to her? She was marking this day down. With her whistle between her teeth, she got a nod from her husband, one of the night's judges. She motioned for the men to meet in the middle.

 

As Garrett stepped forward he got advice shouted at him.

 

“Don't let him hit your pretty face!” _Thank you, Isabela._ Her advice was verbally seconded by their on site medic, Anders.

 

“Don't trip!” was Merrill's lovely little addition.

 

“Make it interesting! I have to write about this for the paper, remember?” And _there_ was Varric. But most embarrassing of all was Sebastian's completely sincere, “I'll pray for you, Hawke!” that the seminarian shouted from the stands. Garrett ignored him and everything else. He tapped his gloved fists against Quentin's and started looking for a way to get a hold on him. From Quentin's bio Garrett knew he was a kick boxer and therefore Garrett planned to pin him down as soon as possible. Well, at least that had been the plan.

 

“You have such a _beautiful_ mother. She spoke so highly of you.”

 

Garrett saw red. He was unused to his opponent shouting insults at him, and especially not in such a calm and almost serene voice. Quentin needed to get his ass kicked.

 

Thankfully Quentin didn't have anymore time to talk. Garrett, after throwing a few punches, found his opening and tackled the older man to the floor. He got a few holds on him but Quentin always managed to somehow slip out of his grasp. It was infuriating. _One_ round of this was enough, Garrett sure as hell wasn't going to do two rounds of this shit.

 

Rolling off the floor and back onto his feet, Garrett assumed a new stance, raising his arms high to protect his face. Sensing the change Quentin moved forward to engage. Garrett let him get off a few kicks and jabs, letting him feel confident. Garrett's bright red shorts caught the light as he shifted and danced out of Quentin's reach. He was exhausted by the time the round was over and Aveline broke them up, shoving them towards their respective corners.

 

Varric and Anders were waiting for him, Varric holding a wet cloth for his forehead while Anders had a medical kit open and ready. He had a few scratches which the medic cleaned quickly and efficiently. Outside of the gym Garrett liked Anders well enough. He was actually pretty funny when he wasn't talking about his social justice blog.

 

Varric finished wiping off his face and checked for any serious head injuries. The dwarf never neglected his fighter, something Garrett and Leandra were both grateful for. Garrett's brother, Carver, hadn't been so lucky with coaches. “Your takedowns are good, but he's slippery.”

 

“He keeps escaping.” Quentin would get points for that, but Garret had the upper hand so far.

 

“Keep at it,” Varric advised him. “You'll wear him down eventually. Just stick to what you're good at. He's the better boxer, but you're the--”

 

“Better man, yeah, I know.”

 

Varric snorted and shook his head. “I was going to say “the better wrestler” but whatever you want, Hawke.”

 

Aveline blew her whistle after speaking with the judges. Garrett was all ready to follow Varric's advice, but then he saw Quentin. He was waving. He was waving to Garrett's mother.

 

It took forty-three seconds for Garrett make it to the middle, tap Quentin's fist, side step away from a kick, and then knock the motherfucker (God, not literally) onto his ass. Aveline kept Garrett from jumping on the bastard. Quentin was unconscious.

 

“Anders! Medic!” Aveline shouted, blowing on her whistle. She was bent over Quentin who still wasn't moving.

 

Everyone held their breath until Anders assured them all that Quentin would wake up in a few minutes. Once he did Aveline announced Garrett as the winner and the next match was on.

 

Vaulting over the ropes, Garrett met the excited grins of his friends as well as Varric's dramatic, exasperated sighing. “Really, Hawke? What am I going to write about now? You couldn't drag it out a few more rounds?”

 

“Just make something up, Varric.” Garrett grinned mischievously. “You always do.”

 

“I report the truth, Hawke. Don't insult me.”

 

“ _Really_? 'Cause I don't remember doing a back-flip in that meet last week--”

 

Varric raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.” He looked around and caught sight of Leandra. “Is your sister here, too?” He tossed a water bottle Garrett's way, which the fighter caught happily.

 

After downing half the bottle, Garrett slipped off his fighting gloves and searched for his gym bag. “Oh, Beth? She joined some sorority that apparently won't let her ever leave. I haven't seen her in months.”

 

Isabela came over with his bag. “Really? That's a shame. Your sister was _so_ cute.”

 

“Oi,” Garrett snapped his fingers at her, snatching his bag away in the same motion. “Go after one Hawke at a time, Bela. It's common courtesy.”

 

Isabela had a comeback for that, he was sure, but something behind him was distracting her. She suddenly surged forward, grabbing Garrett's arm and digging her nails into her flesh. “Look. Over there. Starboard.” Garrett turned around expectantly. Isabela swatted at him. “No! That's port! This way.” She turned him the other way and blatantly pointed. “Him. The lightweight with the pale hair. And the tattoos. He's _new_.”

 

“I think he's a featherweight, actually.” Garrett narrowed his gaze on the lanky form of a dark skinned fighter with obviously bleached hair. “Hell, he might even be _bantamweight_.”

 

Isabela looked disappointed. “You mean you _don't_ know him? How are you going to introduce us?!”

 

Garrett shrugged. Looks like they weren't going to hang out tonight. Isabela was already forming other plans. “Hey, Varric! Who's fighting next?”

 

Varric came over at his call. “Keep drinking water, Hawke,” he reminded him. “And I'll take you out to eat after I watch this last match. I have to write on this one for the paper, too.”

 

Garrett fist pumped. “You're buying me dinner? Hell, yeah!”

 

Still watching the lightweight, Isabela chuckled. “You're going to regret that, Varric. Or at least your wallet will.” She repeated Garrett's former question. “Who's about to fight?”

 

“Merrill has the roster.” Varric beckoned her over and once again the question was stated. Merrill appeared with a clipboard and her green eyes scanned the paper. “It's a featherweight match. Between a man named Brekker and Fenris.” Her head shot up. “He's named Fenris? Like the Norse Fenrir? That's so interesting!” Merrill was a history major and though her specialty was Celtic mythology, she knew other myths, too.

 

Nudging Isabela and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, Garrett asked her, “Did you hear that? Fen- _ris_. Make sure you can pronounce it correctly. I'd _hate_ for you to forget it and accidentally say _my_ name during an, uh, _intimate_ moment.”

 

She laughed and shoved him away towards the stands. “Oh, shut up and go tell your mother you're okay.”

 

“Just remember. Fenris. Not Hawke. Hawke. _HawkeHawkeHawkeHawke_ \--”

 

Isabela made a rude hand gesture as he walked over to his mother. Leandra was sitting still on a bleacher, waiting calmly for him to show up. Garrett hopped up onto the stands and sat next to her. “Hey, mom.”

 

She nodded at him and tugged absentmindedly on a few of her curls. Garrett knew he was responsible for most of that grey hair. “How's your head?”

 

Garrett's smile tightened. “I'm fine. It's fine.”

 

Leandra visibly relaxed. “Okay. Good.” She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. “Are you sure? Did you have Anders check on it? What did he--”

 

“I didn't even get hit in the head this fight, mother. I'm okay.” Garrett jumped down from the bench. “Do you have a ride home?”

 

“I drove here myself,” Leandra smiled weakly. She let her eldest child help her down and escort her outside. Suddenly she turned to him and tugged on his chin. “Without that beard you look more like Carver and less like your father.”

 

“Rules of the game, mother. No beard.” Garrett wished she would stop bringing up Carver. The topic still was raw. He gently guided her outside and waited for her to remember where she parked.

 

Once Leandra was in her car and on her way back home, Garrett rushed back inside to find Varric. Isabela had got him curious. Even though this newcomer was a lightweight, Garrett still wanted to see him fight. He made it back inside for the third round.

 

“How's he doing?” Garrett nudged Varric and indicated Fenris. The thin man was talking with his coach, a grey, older man. The coach was yelling at Fenris before he shoved him back towards the center of the ring. Garrett prickled at the sight.

 

“Brekker's a fast little shit, but you knew that already.” Varric's flicked over to Garrett knowingly.

 

“I hate him. I hope this new guy kicks his ass.” Brekker and Garrett knew each other well. Garrett couldn't count how many times Brekker told him to go the fuck back to England. He couldn't understand why Brekker wouldn't give him a chance. They could bond in their mutual empathy towards whatever the royal family was up to. Garrett had fled over the Atlantic and he _still_ couldn't escape tabloid updates about their life.

 

“He's been doing a good job of it so far...” Varric nodded towards Fenris, who was visibly ready to fight. Garrett's coach sighed. “Now _there's_ a game face. _Look_ at him! What a brooder. Hawke, you should take notes.”

 

“I have paper right here. A pen, too.” Garrett saw immediately what Varric was talking about. Fenris was an intense fighter. His dark brows that contrasted so greatly with his hair were furrowed. His stance was tight and controlled. Brekker may have kept him at bay the first two rounds, but that was going to change. Garrett could tell just from the different ways Brekker and Fenris were holding themselves.

 

Aveline blew her whistle and the two fighters tapped fists. Fenris didn't waste any time. At the urgings of his coach, Fenris stormed towards Brekker, his fists raised. He pummeled Brekker with multiple body shots, but Brekker endured through it all to Garrett's (and Fenris's) irritation.

 

Garrett was so focused on the fight that he didn't notice Varric was trying to talk to him. His coach resorted to kicking him in the back of the knee.

 

“Shit.” Garrett almost fell forward. “What do you want?” He frowned down at Varric expectantly.

 

“I said,” Varric repeated slowly, as if Garrett might hear him better that way, “We're taking Isabela, Daisy, and Blondie with us to dinner. We might even make it a weekly thing. Depends on whether or not you eat me out of house and home.”

 

“Pshh. I don't eat _that_ much, Varric.” Garrett's eyes were back on the ring. “I might eat you out of your _car_ , maybe.”

 

“Comforting.”

 

There was a collective gasp throughout the audience. Brekker had gotten lucky and had caught the side of Fenris's skull on one of his punches. It was a solid hit and Garrett swore he could hear the contact of flesh hitting flesh. Fenris stumbled backwards, his arms cartwheeling to keep his balance. He managed to stop himself with the ropes and when Brekker got close he drew his arm back and then struck Brekker's heart with the palm of his hand. Brekker collapsed in on himself and for the rest of the following rounds, Fenris kept up the advantage. He ended up winning by a few points. Donnic called it.

 

There was a series of quick flashes throughout the gym. Gascard, an annoying photojournalist for a foreign MMA magazine, was snapping picture after picture of Fenris as he made his way out of the ring and to his coach. He was bleeding and dizzy, from what Garrett could see, but Fenris's coach pushed Anders away before he could treat him. Garrett caught up to Anders as he stormed away.

 

“What just happened? Why aren't you treating Fenris?” Garrett felt strange using his name when he had yet to even meet the man.

 

Anders eyes flashed. “Darius, his stupid coach, says he already has a medical carer. _Hadriana_ , but she's not even here! He needs someone now, Hawke.”

 

God, Garrett knew what was going to be the subject of Anders's next blog entry. “I agree.” He moved past Anders and followed Fenris into the locker room. And he didn't know what he was going to say. When he noticed Anders was right at his heels, Garrett turned back around. “Hey, just give me the medkit. If, uh, Darius sees you chase after Fenris after he told you explicitly _not_ to...”

 

Anders got the hint and relinquished his medical bag. “Fine. Make sure you check for any head trauma. He took a bad hit tonight. You know how to--”

 

“I know how.”

 

Fenris was sitting down in Bianca's men's locker room, his eyes closed and his head bowed. Garrett rapped his knuckles on one of the vending machines to alert Fenris to his presence. That pale hair stayed in place, slicked down with sweat, when Fenris's head shot up. Garrett suddenly found himself fixated on by a pair of forest green eyes. It took him a minute to recall why he had walked in there in the first place.

 

“Uh, hey.” Garrett pretended to check out the different flavors of Gatorade in the drink machine. “I'm Hawke, one of the heavyweights.” He had long stopped bothering to give his first name in introductions; no one ever bothered with it. He had been “Hawke” the second Malcolm, his father, had passed on. “And you're new.”

 

“I'm Fenris.” He shifted uncomfortably. Garrett was staring at him.

 

Damn. He certainly hadn't expected _that_ voice coming from that small a man. Short, but strong, Garrett admitted easily. Fenris was a fighter by necessity, Garrett read that much from the fight with Brekker. He suddenly realized he hadn't spoken for several moments. “Aw, shit,” he laughed anxiously. “I brought the medkit for you. You're welcome.” He tried a grin on him that failed miserably.

 

Fenris looked anywhere but at Garrett. “Hadriana will see to my injuries.” His rich voice had suddenly become flat and dry, as if he was simply repeating another's words rather than speaking his own mind.

 

“Yeah, I heard something about that,” Garrett admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “But you're bleeding now so...Plus,” he tapped two fingers on his own skull, “You should get that checked out. Brekker got you pretty good.”

 

There was a snort from the man. “Brekker got much worse, I assure you.”

 

“And I appreciate that, believe me. Brekker's a xenophobic asshole.” Garrett began shifting through the bag until he felt something cold. “Here.” He fished out an ice pack and tossed it to Fenris. “Put that on your head.”

 

Fenris caught it and obediently did so. Garrett went to where he was sitting and crouched down in front of him, staring into his eyes. Fenris quickly leaned away. “Uh. What are you doing?”

 

“Checking to see if any of your pupils are dilated.” Hawke stood up after another minute. “Not that I can see, but make sure Hadriana checks you for any head trauma.”

 

“You know Hadriana?”

 

Garrett titled his head. Fenris had said that quite venomously. “Actually, no. Darius, your coach, mentioned her when he wouldn't let Anders see to you. He's my medic. Well, not _mine_ though I'm sure he'd like to be.”

 

“I see.” Fenris removed the ice pack from his head. He stood up and tried to give it back to Garrett. “Darius will be expecting me back. Here.”

 

Garrett's brows furrowed. “Take that with you. We have more.” Fenris merely nodded and walked past him. Garrett took his time placing the unused bandages back in Anders's pack. Darius's relationship with Fenris was...odd. Whenever he got even slightly messed up in a fight Varric was there immediately with bandages and, hell, sometimes even chocolate. Darius had simply sent Fenris off on his own while he talked to a damn reporter.

 

He had known a coach like that before, and _that_ certainly hadn't ended well.

 

 _No_ , Garrett set his jaw determinedly. _It hadn't ended well at all._

 

And it was not something he was going to let slide again.

 

 

 


	2. Hoover

 

  
**Chapter 2:** Hoover

“ _Older men declare war. But it is the youth that must fight and die.”  
― Herbert Hoover_

* * *

 

“You're not a 'Killer',” Varric decided while sipping an ale. “You're more of a 'Chuckles'.”

Garrett glanced up at his mentor. That statement was sadly true. “That's right. I laugh in the face of my enemies.” He stared down at his empty plate morosely until Merrill took pity on him and pushed her plate his way.

“I'm still worried about that new fighter,” Sebastian admitted, dragging their conversation into a less cheerful direction. Anders shot Garrett a glare as a result. He was still pissed that Garrett had dragged the buzzkill along to their dinner, even if Sebastian was a very pretty buzzkill. In Anders's expert opinion, at least. But that still didn't make Anders feel any better about Sebastian being invited. The two butted heads over literally _everything_.

“He seemed okay when I checked him,” Garrett pointed out, his mouth full of Merrill's chips. “Bruised up, yeah, but other than that he was fine.”

Varric nodded in agreement, though he added a counterpoint. “With a coach like he had, he won't continue to be fine.”

Isabela ended their somber silence with a long, drawn out and slightly erotic sigh. “He was _beautiful_.”

Sebastian uncomfortably shifted away from her. Garrett laughed softly, picking up a menu again and looking wistfully at the desserts. “Hey, Merrill, want to split a dessert? They have chocolate cake covered in chocolate with chocolate ice cream. But we can probably ask for more chocolate if need be.”

As Isabela continued to sigh, Merrill said, pouting, “Why do you always ask _me_ to split dessert?”

“Because you eat like a bird and that leaves more for him.” Sebastian grinned at Garrett who just shrugged and nodded.

“Our system works. Don't judge,” Garret said while he gestured for a waiter.

 

Garrett gently untangled himself from Isabela, a tricky feat as she had literally fallen asleep on top of him. Once free he turned the air conditioner on full blast to combat the city's constant, blasted heat. As an after thought Garrett dropped a heavy quilt atop Isabela's bare form (she had little to no tolerance of the cold) and headed for his closet.

It had been nearly a week since his last match and Varric was insisting on an early practice. A _very_ early practice.

Usually Garrett had his pick of practice times at the gym, since his coach _owned_ the establishment, but recently Varric had been flooded with requests to use Bianca's many facilities. Requests that came with a little extra cash on the side. Garrett had no doubt that Darius was behind this, was the reason Garrett no longer got to wake up at his preferred time, the crack of noon, and was now up at the damned crack of dawn.

He left a note for Isabela, and a warning not to drink all of his beer, before leaving for the gym. Varric greeted him cheerfully. “Good morning, Hawke.”

“No.”

Varric chuckled at that and when Garrett turned to glare at him he noticed his coach wasn't alone. The newcomer shook his head, his mouth firm though his eyes bright. “He isn't a morning person, is he?”

“ _That's_ an understatement.” Varric chose then to disappear behind his desk while rummaging through his file cabinets.

Garrett narrowed his still sleepy eyes at the man. “The _Warden_?” He recognized the former heavyweight fighter; the Warden (stupid nickname, though it worked now that the man was the warden of the closest prison, Vigil's Keep) had fought at Bianca's gym when Garrett was still learning the ropes. He had been there when--

“Cousland, please,” the Warden interrupted, his hands spread in greeting.

Garrett dropped his gym bag so he could shake Cousland's hand. “Sorry, I'm half asleep here.” He paused then, trying to be tactful before he decided to just screw it. “And, uh, could I ask what you're doing here? At this hour?”

“To answer you're second question, it's only 0800. That's not that early. And,” Cousland walked over and clapped a hand on his shoulder, “to answer the first question, good old Varric brought me here to kick your ass.”

 

Garrett had come out of orgies feeling less sore than he did now; Cousland didn't let up. He thanked the gods that be that Cousland was retired. He had no desire fight Ari _and_ the Warden.

Cousland had hit the showers and was now changed into a fresh work uniform. He sat down next to Garrett and got straight to business. “I saw that guy they call the Arishok.”

He so did not want to talk about Ari. “I _still_ don't know what 'arishok' means.”

“Doesn't matter.” Cousland was blunt. “You'll have to fight him soon if you want the title. And it'll be hell. The guy _I_ fought when I was your age fought like a fucking _demon_.”

“If this is supposed to make me feel better...”

“It's not.”

 _Glad we got that cleared up, then_. Wanting to get off topic, Garrett chose possibly the worse topic of conversation he could. “How's Morrigan doing?”

Cousland's lip curled. “The same. Still hasn't called me after she ran off with the kid.” After taking a chug of ice blue gatorade, he returned the favor by asking his own inappropriate question. “How's your brother doing?”

Garrett's stomach fell. “The exact, _fucking_ same. There's been no change. At all.”

Garrett felt, rather than saw, Cousland pat him on the back awkwardly. “Your uncle Gamlen was a piece of shit. He should never have... and who the hell are those guys?”

Ah. Darius and Fenris had walked in, ready to for their time slot, the time slot Varric _used_ to hold for him. Garrett shrugged. “Lightweights.”

“So none of your concern,” Cousland surmised before adding, noticing Garrett's expression, “And _yet_ you are concerned.”

“I am.” Garrett did his best not to stare while Fenris practiced on a punching bag. “He'd be fine without his coach, but they're attached at the fucking hip.”

“Now, tell me, which part of the anatomy is the 'fucking hip'?”

Garrett frowned at him. That was something he normally would say, but now was not the time. “Last week Fenris, the blond one, had a minor head injury and his coach couldn't give a shit. And Fenris won't do anything without his _permission_.” He put an obvious emphasis on that last word for Cousland's benefit.

“A symbiotic relationship? Could be drugs? Could be worse, whatever kind of hold he's got on that fighter to...” Trailing off into silence, Cousland stood, checking his phone for the time. “I have work, but if it'll make you feel better I'll do a background search on...?”

“Darius,” Garrett supplied. “Don't have a last name, but you can get that from Varric. And you'd do that? Why?”

“Boredom. I can. I'm going to make you pay me for this. Take you're pick.”

Great. Even though Garrett knew Darius's record might come up clean, it felt good to actually be doing _something_. Really he shouldn't be doing anything. It wasn't any of his damn business.

So why was he hellbent on _making_ it his business?

 

 _He's going to tell me to piss off._ That _was_ the most likely scenario, but Garrett didn't listen to any of the logical things his brain was trying to tell him. Instead Garrett bent down, picked up a rock, and threw it through Fenris's apartment window.

Covering his head lest any of the falling glass reach him, he cursed his luck. He had meant to use the rock to get Fenris's attention, not shatter his damn window. Seconds after that thought, a pale head popped out the window, staring down at him with a rather impressive scowl.

“Fenris!” Garrett cupped his hands around his mouth for more volume. “It's me, Hawke!” He added for more clarification in case Fenris had forgotten him, “From Bianca's gym! I was the hot heavyweight that fought Quinten!”

“I remember you.” The man was as blunt as Garrett remembered. “You broke my window.”

Garrett scratched his head, shrugging apologetically. “Yeah, well, when you say it like _that_ of course it's going to sound bad.” There was another glower before Fenris disappeared inside. _Shit_. “Hey! Let me at least pay for that!” When the man still didn't reappear, Hawke tried again, louder, “ _Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!_ ” He waited another minute before, “Fenris, if I stand on this corner any longer someone's going to mistake me for a hooker and if they offer me money for my services, I'm not saying I'd do it but I _do_ need a little help making my rent this week.”

 _That_ caught his attention. Fenris's head was back out his window. “You are a rather strange man, Hawke,” he observed.

“I like to think so. Now come down so I can talk to you.”

Fenris was always so suspicious. “Talk about what?”

“Does it matter? Let's just go to the Hanged Man and, uh, hang out.” God, that had sounded dumb. Garrett thought for a moment. “I'll buy the first round.”

“You'll buy every round. I'll be down in five minutes.”

Alcohol. It made the world go round. And it made broody lightweights climb down their ivory towers. “Fine by me,” Garrett shouted back, but by then Fenris probably couldn't hear him.

Fenris appeared outside soon after, a light coat draped over his shoulders. “I fail to see the point in all this, but if you wish to waste your money for my benefit I will not object.”

“That's half the spirit.”

 

They walked in an uncomfortable silence until they reached Varric's favorite bar, the Hanged Man. Once Garrett bought himself a draft and Fenris an expensive red wine, they settled down at the bar for an even more uncomfortable silence. Watching the man sip the wine appreciatively, Garrett commented, “You have, uh, good taste.”

“Why am I here, Hawke?” Fenris stared down, his fingers tapping a pattern on the bar.

Garrett leaned back on his bar stool, thinking this over. He certainly couldn't start with 'I think you're being abused by your coach and even though I just met you I'm concerned?'. It was quite possibly the worst way to start off the conversation. So, instead he answered with, “You're fresh off the boat. I've been there. You don't know anyone or where anything's at. You can't be opposed to a friend, right?”

Now Fenris was openly staring at him. Garrett waved a hand in front of his face. “Hey, you still there?”

“I don't understand you,” Fenris said, his brow furrowed.

Garrett chuckled. “Now you're sounding like my therapist.”

His lame joke was completely ignored. Fenris turned those green eyes onto him. “You wish to be friends? I have seen your friends. You don't seem to be lacking in friendship.”

“How's your head?” Garrett blurted. Fenris was more cynical than he had imagined.

Frowning at the sudden outburst, Fenris shrugged. “I've had worse.”

“And did Darius just leave you unchecked back then, too?” Garrett never did learn to watch his mouth.

Fenris's eyes burned. “I _knew_ that this was what this was about. When you made your appearance in the locker room I _knew_ you wouldn't stay out of this.” He slammed his wine glass down, not caring if any sloshed over the sides.

Garrett made to stop him before Fenris walked out. “You're _absolutely_ right. I'm not going to stay out if it. It's in my nature. I _rarely_ stay out of things, and believe me, it's gotten my ass kicked so many times. So, so many.”

“Then listen to your better judgment,” Fenris hissed, “and stay out of this one.”

“You have no idea how much I can't do that.” When Fenris turned away to leave, Garrett pleaded, forgetting how lame he may sound, “I understand this isn't my business, and I have no right to try and 'help' you if you don't want it, but...” It was only now that Garrett paused.

“But?” Fenris repeated, irked that suddenly Garrett was playing shy.

“Let me show you something, first.”

 

 

“Visiting hours are over.”

“Yes, I know that,” Garrett said for the fifth time. The nurse opened her mouth to repeat her statement, but Garrett spoke over her. “I'm family. _Please_. Just let us in.”

The nurse pursed her lips and looked from Garrett to Fenris, who as looking confused as to why Garrett had led him to a hospital of all places. “Fine,” the nurse relented bitterly, “but your boyfriend has to stay out here.”

Garrett gritted his teeth. The whole point of this exercise was to scare Fenris into reason. Darius was dangerous as a coach and he needed to see that. “My _friend_ is coming with me.”

Fenris's eyebrows rose at the word 'friend'. “ _Comrade_.”

“I don't care,” the nurse crossed her arms and jerked her head towards the ward she was guarding. “If you two get me in trouble I'm telling my superiors you bullied your way past.”

“Thanks.” That was good enough for him. Garrett walked through a pair of automatic doors, turned a few corners, and then stopped short in front of one of the patient's rooms.

“You've been here before.” Fenris had been wary of this little field trip, and then became increasingly so when Darius texted him and wanted to know why he wasn't in his apartment. “The question is, why have you brought me here?”

“Hold on.” Garrett's hand was around the doorknob but that was as far as he went.

“Hold on? You've been leading me around on fool's errands all night and _now_ you want to _hold on_?”

“I need a minute!” Garrett barked, his cool facade sliding for a minute. One of the passing male nurses shushed him, to which Garrett answered, “Dude, this is the _coma ward,_ if I wake one of these guys up I'll be doing you a _favor_.”

“Coma ward?” Fenris asked in surprise. He must have missed the sign.

Garrett nodded. “Yeah.” He opened the door and pushed his way through. “And this is my brother.”

 

 **A/N:** Yes, yes, I know. It's been forever between chapters. I'm sorry. But it's here now. It's okay. Just pretend I didn't leave you on another cliffhanger. _Pretend_. 


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